


straw house, straw dog

by lipsstainedbloodred



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 20:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: "You burn everything you touch."Crowley has a nightmare.





	straw house, straw dog

**Author's Note:**

> "You were burned, you were about to burn, you’re still on fire." - Straw House, Straw Dog, Richard Siken

“Morning Aziraphale,” Crowley said, throwing open the door to the shop. He silenced the infernal bell above the door with a snap of his fingers and let the door close behind him with a clap. The smell of book glue and must greeted him, dust motes floating lazily in the morning sunlight streaming in through half drawn blinds. 

Aziraphale came around the corner of a bookcase. In his arms was a stack of books towering just over the top of his head. “Ah, Crowley, be a love would you?” He said, the books swaying a bit in his arms.

Crowley took half the books off the stack for him.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, smiling now that they could see each other properly. 

Crowley grunted. “Where are these going then?”

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale walked around him, “just over here. New display.”

“Don’t understand why you bother,” Crowley complained, following, “you never sell anything anyway.”

“Hush.”

Crowley helped Aziraphale stack the books on their new display, pushing them an inch to the left each time Aziraphale turned his back until the angel shooed him away from the display. “Let me finish. Go make some tea if you want to be useful.”

Crowley rolled his eyes from behind his glasses and went to put the kettle on. He messed about the kitchen while water for the water to boil, hiding Aziraphale’s tea towels in the cabinet under the sink and rearranging the cutlery drawer. He found Aziraphale’s loose leaf tea in a sugar bowl on top of the microwave and wondered for a moment if he was the one to put it there the last time he made tea. It was possible. Aziraphale rarely used his kitchen.

The tea made - one sugar for Aziraphale and six for Crowley as well as little milk - Crowley carried their mugs back out into the shop. Aziraphale was fussing with the new books added to his collection by one Adam Young, Antichrist. Crowley clicked his tongue and Aziraphale’s head shot up. “Oh good,” Aziraphale said, “thank you my dear.”

Crowley grumbled a moment as Aziraphale took his mug and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“What’s got you in such a mood?” Aziraphale asked, “Are you cold?”

He was. Winter mornings in London always came with a bite and this one was particularly snappish. “No,” Crowley said, “it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked, “I could warm it up a bit for you. I’m a bit chilly myself.”

“Mm,” Crowley pretended to think about it, sipping his tea, “I suppose. If you’re chilled as well.”

Aziraphale smiled.

There was a waft of something singed in the air. Crowley’s tongue flickered out briefly. He wondered if he might have left the stove on after making their tea. “What’s-” He turned around to face a wall of flames. He dropped his mug with a crash, shattered ceramic and hot tea spilling across the ancient wood floors. He spun back around to grab Aziraphale, to run-

Aziraphale was gone. Around him the bookshop burned. Every direction he turned more devilishly hot flames licked at dry books like kindling and spread higher, wider, until he was trapped, unmoving, in a blazing inferno.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley screamed, “Aziraphale, where are you!”

“Here!” Aziraphale yelled back.

Crowley turned, dazed and terrified, barely able to move. Aziraphale was there, behind him, the sleeves of his ivory suit on fire. He brought his hands up to Crowley’s face. “You let me burn,” Aziraphale said.

The flames spread up, licking at his shoulders.

“You let me burn, Crowley.”

Crowley tried to wrest his head free, but the grip Aziraphale had on him was iron.

To his chest, spreading up and down. Eating at clothes. At skin. Aziraphale was burning.

“No!” Crowley screamed. He couldn’t move. All he could do was watch.

“You let it all burn.” His face was a ball of fire, hair burnt skin melting. He spoke through his teeth like a skeleton. “You let it all burn. You brought them here. You killed me.”

“I didn’t!”

“You burn everything you touch.”

“No-”

“Burned it all.”

“Stop!” Crowley was paralyzed, watching his angel burn down to his bones, “Aziraphale!”

The rafters creaked, sending flaming chunks down to the floor below. A large chunk smashed into the ground behind Crowley. The windows blew inward, sending sharp glass digging into the side of his face.

“Burned it all.”

“No!”

“Burned it all.”

Tears tracked their way down Crowley’s face. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t- And there was this flaming corpse digging bones into his face leaving bruises and he couldn’t look away. “Aziraphale!” He sobbed, “Aziraphale!”

“Crowley!”

Crowley woke with a shuddering gasp. His body felt weighed down and he gasped. “Off, off, off.” The pressure released and Crowley sat up shaking, curling his head down between his knees. He felt like he was going to vomit.

“Easy love,” He heard Aziraphale say next to him, “Just a nightmare. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Crowley was shocked to find he had tears in his eyes. He blinked to try and be rid of them but it seemed more came the more he did it. He let out a low moan and reached out blindly until he found Aziraphale’s hand. He brought it up to his head and heard Aziraphale make a small noise.

Aziraphale brushed his cheek before reaching up to stroke his hair. “That’s it, steady on dear. There you go.”

Crowley wiped furiously at his eyes. 

Aziraphale moved closer, the bed squeaking under them, and wrapped his arm around Crowley’s shoulder. “Okay?” He asked.

Crowley opened his mouth and a sob escaped. He buried his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder and let himself be held.

Aziraphale rubbed soothingly at his scalp, his other hand resting firmly between his shoulder blades. “Just a nightmare, my love. You’re okay. It’s alright.”

Crowley’s hands came up to clutch desperately at the back of Aziraphale’s sleeping shirt. He balled his hands into fists in the soft cotton, holding on as tight as he could. He could still smell the burning of hair, of flesh. “I-I-” He bit down on his tongue and just let himself be held for a while.

Aziraphale rubbed circles over his spine and pressed kisses into his hair. He didn’t let go until Crowley did, and even then he only let go enough for them to be able to look at one another.

“You were  _ burning _ ,” Crowley said. He let go of Aziraphale’s shirt so he could hold his face. He had to touch, had to make sure this was real.

Aziraphale’s face crumpled into something desperately sad. “Oh my poor Crowley,” He said, his hand resting on the back of Crowley’s neck, “what an awful thing to have to see.”

“The shop,” Crowley said, his breath trembling, “it too, and all of the books, but mostly you, Aziraphale. I watched you burn and I couldn’t do anything to stop it and it was  _ my fault _ .”

“ _ No love _ ,” Aziraphale said, “oh darling, no.” He leaned in to press a soft kiss to Crowley’s lips, as gently and tenderly as he dared. “I’m so sorry, my dear. But I’m here, right here, and nothing is ever going to take me from you. Nor you, me.”

“I love you.”

“And I, you.”

Aziraphale pressed Crowley gently back down into the sheets, his hand cupping the demon’s jaw. He kissed a meandering trail across Crowley’s face, showing his love the only way he knew how, and let his weight rest atop Crowley once more. 

Crowley felt contained and safe under Aziraphale’s body and kisses, as he always had. He let his shaking hands wander under Aziraphale’s shirt, just to touch, not seeking anything more. He pulled Aziraphale close and then closer still. He smelled honey and ozone, a bit of ink and book leather, but no more burning. 

“Okay now, dear?” Aziraphale asked, smoothing a hand along Crowley’s naked torso, stopping at his hip and squeezing before lightly running back up his ribs. It almost tickled and Crowley squirmed.

“Yeah.” 

The terror had passed leaving a bone deep kind of weariness. Crowley breathed deep and easy, his body lax against crisp dark sheets. Aziraphale kissed him, soft and syrupy slow. Crowley’s eyes fell shut. Aziraphale kissed him again and again until Crowley was worried he might fall asleep under him.

“Tired,” Crowley mumbled.

“Of course, love,” Aziraphale said, brushing his hair back from his forehead and kissing the tattoo of a snake next to his ear. A pleasant heat suffused through his bones. “Go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Safe, cared for, watched over - Crowley slept.


End file.
